The private jet descended through a thick, impenetrable blanket of gray clouds that swallowed the memory of the Italian sun. As the wheels touched the tarmac of Zurich Airport with a violent, jarring thud, the warmth of the Amalfi Coast felt like a vivid dream from another life. Kai looked out the window at the rain-slicked runway, his expression as frozen as the Swiss air. Beside him, Elea remained silent, her hands clasped tightly over her designer handbag. Inside that bag, nestled within a velvet jewelry box, was the 9mm bullet engraved with the Bowie crest. It felt heavier than any weapon she had ever carried, a cold anchor pulling her deeper into a sea of suspicion.
"We are back," Kai said, his voice devoid of its usual melodic warmth.
Elea turned her head slowly, offering a faint
